a new england girlhood-第12章
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wn〃 biscuit； or a date； or a fig； or a 〃gibral… tar；〃 sometimes； but we well understood that we could not help ourselves to money。
Now there was a little painted sugar equestrian in a shop…window down town； which I had seen and set my heart upon。 I had learned that its price was two cents； and one morning as I passed around the counter with my tin pail I made up my mind to possess myself of that amount。 My father's back was turned； he was busy at his desk with account…books and ledgers。 I counted out four cents aloud； but took six； and started on my errand with a fascinating picture before me of that pink and green horseback rider as my very own。
I cannot imagine what I meant to do with him。 I knew that his paint was poisonous； and I could not have intended to eat him； there were much better candies in my father's window； he would not sell these dangerous painted toys to children。 But the little man was pretty to look at； and I wanted him； and meant to have him。 It was just a child's first temptation to get possession of what was not her own；the same ugly temptation that produces the defaulter； the burglar； and the highway robber； and that made it necessary to declare to every human being the law； 〃Thou shalt not covet。〃
As I left the shop； I was conscious of a certain pleasure in the success of my attempt； as any thief might be； and I walked off very fast； clattering the coppers in the tin pail。
When I was fairly through the bars that led into the farmer's field； and nobody was in sight； I took out my purloined pennies； and looked at them as they lay in my palm。
Then a strange thing happened。 It was a bright morning； but it seemed to me as if the sky grew suddenly dark； and those two pennies began to burn through my hand； to scorch me； as if they were red hot； to my very soul。 It was agony to hold them。 I laid them down under a tuft of grass in the footpath； and ran as if I had left a demon behind me。 I did my errand； and returning； I looked about in the grass for the two cents； wondering whether they could make me feel so badly again。 But my good angel hid them from me； I never found them。
I was too much of a coward to confess my fault to my father； I had already begun to think of him as 〃an austere man；〃 like him in the parable of the talents。 I should have been a much happier child if I bad confessed； for I had to carry about with me for weeks and months a heavy burden of shame。 I thought of myself as a thief； and used to dream of being carried off to jail and condemned to the gallows for my offense： one of my story…books told about a boy who was hanged at Tyburn for stealing； and how was I better than he？
Whatever naughtiness I was guilty of afterwards； I never again wanted to take what belonged to another； whether in the family or out of it。 I hated the sight of the little sugar horseback rider from that day； and was thankful enough when some other child had bought him and left his place in the window vacant。
About this time I used to lie awake nights a good deal； wondering what became of infants who were wicked。 I had heard it said that all who died in infancy went to heaven； but it was also said that those who sinned could not possibly go to heaven。 I understood； from talks I had listened to among older people； that infancy lasted until children were about twelve years of age。 Yet here was I； an infant of less than six years； who had committed a sin。 I did not know what to do with my own case。 I doubted whether it would do any good for me to pray to be forgiven； but I did pray； because I could not help it； though not aloud。 I believe I preferred thinking my prayers to saying them； almost always。
Inwardly； I objected to the idea of being an infant； it seemed to me like being nothing in particularneither a child nor a little girl； neither a baby nor a woman。 Having discovered that I was capable of being wicked； I thought it would be better if I could grow up at once； and assume my own responsibilities。 It quite demoralized me when people talked in my presence about 〃innocent little children。〃
There was much questioning in those days as to whether fictitious reading was good for children。 To 〃tell a story〃 was one equivalent expression for lying。 But those who came nearest to my child…life recognized the value of truth as impressed through the imagination； and left me in delightful freedom among my fairy…tale books。 I think I saw a difference； from the first； between the old poetic legends and a modern lie； especially if this latter was the invention of a fancy as youthful as my own。
I supposed that the beings of those imaginative tales had lived some time； somewhere； perhaps they still existed in foreign countries； which were all a realm of fancy to me。 I was certain that they could not inhabit our matter…of…fact neighborhood。 I had never heard that any fairies or elves came over with the Pilgrims in the Mayflower。 But a little red…haired playmate with whom I became intimate used to take me off with her into the fields； where； sitting； on the edge of a disused cartway fringed with pussy…clover； she poured into my ears the most remarkable narratives of acquaintances she had made with people who lived under the ground close by us； in my fatber's orchard。 Her literal descriptions quite deceived me； I swallowed her stories entire； just as people in the last century did Defoe's account of 〃The Apparition of Mrs。 Veal。〃
She said that these subterranean people kept house； and that they invited her down to play with their children on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons； also that they sometimes left a plate of cakes and tarts for her at their door： she offered to show me the very spot where it was；under a great apple…tree which my brothers called 〃the luncheon…tree；〃 because we used to rest and refresh ourselves there； when we helped my father weed his vegetable…garden。 But she guarded herself by informing me that it would be impossible for us to open the door ourselves； that it could only be unfastened from the inside。 She told me these people's namesa 〃Mr。 Pelican；〃 and a 〃Mr。 Apple…tree Manasseh；〃 who had a very large family of little 〃Manassehs。〃 She said that there was a still larger family； some of them probably living just under the spot where we sat； whose sirname was 〃Hokes。〃 （If either of us had been familiar with another word pronounced in the same way； though spelled differently； I should since have thought that she was all the time laughing in her sleeve at my easy belief。） These 〃Hokeses〃 were not good…natured people； she added； whispering to me that we must not speak about them aloud； as they had sharp ears； and might overhear us； and do us mischief。
I think she was hoaxing herself as well as me； it was her way of being a heroine in her own eyes and mine； and she had always the manner of being entirely in earnest。
But she became more and more romantic in her inventions。 A distant aristocratic…looking mansion； which we could see half… hidden by trees； across the river； she assured me was a haunted house； and that she had passed many a night there； seeing unaccountable sights； and hearing mysterious sounds。 She further announced that she was to be married； some time； to a young man who lived over there。 I inferred that the marriage was to take place whenever the ghostly tenants of the house would give their consent。 She revealed to me； under promise of strict secrecy； the young man's name。 It was 〃Alonzo。〃
Not long after I picked up a book which one of my sisters had borrowed； called 〃Alonzo and Melissa；〃 and I discovered that she had been telling me page after page of 〃Melissa's〃 adventures； as if they were her own。 The fading memory I have of the book is that it was a very silly one； and when I discovered that the rest of the romantic occurrences she had related； not in that volume； were to be found in 〃The Children of the Abbey；〃 I left off listening to her。 I do not think I regarded her stories as lies； I only lost my interest in them after I knew that they were all of her own clumsy second…hand making…up； out of the most commonplace material。
My two brothers liked to play upon my credulity。 When my brother Ben pointed up to the gilded weather…cock on the Old South steeple；
